


Not Your Average Valentine's Confession

by headraline



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: "Jesus Christ Connor!", And we all know it, BAMF Connor, Connor is a little shit, M/M, Markus has a danger kink, a shitton of OCs - Freeform, i guess, mild body horror, the violence warning is not that bad but it's there just to be sure, they are slightly less disaster than usual in this, to a lesser degree also bamf Markus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 00:52:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17777447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headraline/pseuds/headraline
Summary: As the leader of a revolution, Markus gets into plenty of trouble.Luckily, Connor is always there to get him out of it.





	Not Your Average Valentine's Confession

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in two days, four days ago.
> 
> I've been burning to post this.  
> As per tags, there is violence, mostly concerning damage sustained by Markus. Calling it body horror might be a stretch, but better safe than sorry.

 

When the first threats started, Markus refused to let that stop him. Sure, he was worried about the safety of those closest to him and his own but, as far as revolutions go, if so many people are trying to kill you then it means you’re doing something right.

He said as much to the others and, albeit begrudgingly, Connor agreed with him –the amount of progress they had already done so far was _leaps_ compared to the merciless prediction of their own very calculating android brains. It definitely spoke volumes about the difference between machine and alive.

But humanity’s history is what it is, and change has never been easy, or welcomed.

Particularly the latter.

“Connor, I refuse to lock myself away in some kind of witness protection program! We’ve got this!”

Which brings the RK800 back to the here and now. Anti-android groups are much rarer nowadays, the support they’ve been receiving from the general public in the last thirteen months, ever since helping out in restoring everyday life in Detroit, has been nothing short of amazing, but there have still been people throwing smoke bombs at Markus’ open speeches and no less than three assassination attempts –four, counting the time a ‘distracted’ maintenance worker nearly electrocuted Markus with an exposed cable.

Connor is still adamant that someone paid the man to.

Still, he understands the RK200’s stance: Markus is the face of the revolution, going into hiding would only make their credibility suffer, and he probably wouldn’t be much safer either way. “Nobody’s asking you to, Markus, I just—” several dialogue options appear in his peripheral, he hesitates between which one to choose, but he settles for sincerity in the end. “I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

Several eyebrows in the room shoot up at that.

Up until now, Connor has been discreet about his… deep admiration for Markus —ever since deviating, there’s been no one he felt he could more closely relate to: thrust against his will in unfamiliar territory, the weight of vital choices on his shoulders, the staggering feeling of not having anywhere to look but within himself… it felt all too familiar to Markus, and he did his best to stick close to Connor and help him adjust.

They easily bonded over their similarly impossible situations and absurd feats, and the RK800 always looks forward to their battles of wits and friendly jabs at each other. Most recently, he’s been very much looking forward to simply seeing Markus any chance he gets, even just one look, one smile directed at him makes Connor feel that whatever taxing endeavor he’d be facing on a given day would be worth it.

“That’s… very kind of you to say, but… we all know what I signed up for, when I decided to see this through.”

Like _that_ smile. Damn him, just one subtle lip-bite and Connor is ready to say yes to anything, no matter how hare-brained an idea is.

Thing is. Connor has _tried_ to be discreet, but he knows Markus is onto him. Things between them have a way of coming to the surface; and he’s not so foolish that he’d try to hide it… not entirely. He suspects the RK200 doesn’t know the full extent of his feelings, but they both know there’s something between them, something unspoken and undefined. Markus knows, but won’t push Connor for answers— he’s considerate like that.

Though in the meantime, Connor suspects they’re driving everybody around them crazy with all these silent looks and long stares. North is rolling her eyes at their exchange just now, and he could swear he saw Simon mouth the word ‘hopeless’ to Josh.

“Markus, can you _please_ think with your _upstairs_ processor?” Oh, North. She is always fond of being very blunt. “We have to figure out a way to keep you safe, you can’t keep taking hits— it’s also a matter of dignity: what kind of leader doesn’t protect themselves?”

Unexpectedly, Josh agrees with her. “She’s right. A dead activist wins no debates.”

She actually bows theatrically to him. “Thank you, Josh.” She says, levelling Markus with an expectant stare.

“If I may…” Connor knows he’ll probably regret this, but it’s the most solid course of action out of 613 pre-constructions. “What if instead of hiding you away, you had someone to protect you?”

He addresses Markus directly, because he knows he hates it when people talk about him like he’s not even in the room.

“No.” the leader shakes his head, “I’m not putting any other android in that kind of danger—” he is slightly less advanced than Connor, but it still only takes him that extra half second to catch up. “You… are… talking about yourself. Of course.” He shakes his head some more, but does not continue.

The RK800 takes it as a green light. “It’s the best out of both worlds. You still get to go out there and scandalize human society, and we get to be a little less worried about your continued survival.” He points out with the ghost of a smirk, “Out of all of us, I am the most equipped to fight off danger, I can keep you _safe_.”

“Do you guys need a minute?” Simon’s amused question makes Connor realize exactly just how close he got to Markus, grabbing him by one shoulder and tugging him in to be eye to eye.

He lets go in favor of turning away and self-consciously straightening his tie –he doesn’t wear his Cyberlife uniform anymore, hasn’t for a long time, but Hank teases him often about [_dressing up_](https://i.pinimg.com/236x/6c/58/87/6c5887cc78d4307402e2cc3953a3c206.jpg) _like a noir detective_. Connor refuses to take style advice from a man who wears yellow stripes under army-green canvas, and keeps his stance on the elegance and functionality of a black waistcoat over white shirts: he can conceal a gun if he needs to.

Markus clears his voice to get the others’ attention. “Okay. Fine. You guys win.” He declares, opening both his arms wide, “Starting tomorrow, Connor will pose as my right hand so he can keep an eye on potential assassination attempts.”

“Thank fucking rA9!” North literally puts her hands in a prayer position and looks to the ceiling for a second, but Connor has little time to be amused by that, since Markus fixates a _look_ on him that demands his full attention:

“I want you to keep it strictly non-lethal at _all_ times, unless my life is in critical danger or other people around us are going to die.”

The RK800 would prefer to have carte blanche, but he will make this one concession, for Markus. “Okay.”

“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go visit my father before calling this a night.”

“I can come with—”

“Can you—” Markus stops himself and takes a moment to close his eyes and rein in his voice. “Can you just… wait until tomorrow to start? I promise I won’t get into any trouble.”

Moments like these are when Connor thinks damn Markus and his annoyingly handsome puppy eyes. Reluctantly he nods. “Okay. You did say _starting tomorrow_ , after all.”

After the liberation of Hart Plaza, most androids relocated between the repossessed Cyberlife Tower and the evacuated warehouses, production has been suspended nation-wide for the time being, but that hasn’t calmed down those who still cry ‘wolf’ every time Markus so much shows his face outside. The abandoned church they took refuge in after the Jericho freighter raid is also one of the few safe hangout spots for androids –the only human who knows where it’s located is Hank, and Connor has trusted him with his life before, so… not a problem.

He counts from five to one after Markus leaves the room.

“You’re going to follow him at a distance, aren’t you?”

It’s hard to hold back the smile. “What kind of question is that, Simon?” he asks, “Of course I am.”

 

Tailing an android is a very tricky business, if they expect to be followed: one would need to keep outside of scanner range which would mean not always having a line of sight. It’s especially true for a prototype like Markus, who has a better scanner range than most –though still not as good as Connor’s, not to mention he has a higher fidelity sound unit and can prioritize the input of certain sound sources over others.

No, the real problem with following Markus is that, while worried and intent to keep him safe, the RK800 still wants to respect his choices and his privacy… a hard compromise to find. He has located Carl Manfred’s address easily enough and is currently waiting, dutifully outside of range, until their beloved leader leaves the house. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Markus to protect himself –he’s proven to be more than capable on several occasions– it’s just that the threats they received are very… specific, this time.

Connor wouldn’t be able to explain it in words other than _having a bad feeling about this_. So much for being the perfect little prototype who could run statistics on anything.

The thought tilts the corner of his mouth upwards. Then again, he’s the one who said that _statistically speaking there’s always a chance for unlikely events to take place_.

 

Carl is back to his usual self –Markus’ encounter with Leo in front of him had made his condition worsen, but he recovered well and now they can hang out in the studio again. His father is fond of watching him paint… he gets a particularly knowing look whenever the paintings get a certain tone of rich chestnut brown in them, no matter how abstract.

“You should tell him.”

Markus puts the palette down. He’s not going to be able to do any more painting, that’s for sure. Eyeing Carl with the barest hint of a smile, he minutely shakes his head.

“It’s not that easy.” He says, taking his place behind the wheelchair to lead them both out, “There’s a reason if he hasn’t mentioned anything until now, and… I don’t want to push him.”

Carl lets out a low, drawn out hum in contemplation, before speaking up. “You know… not to sound like a dick about it, but if you hadn’t pushed Leo and nearly cracked his fool head open, He’d never have gotten the chance to go to rehab. I’d have never gotten my boy back, and you’d be minus a brother.”

 _Brother_ in a very loose sense of the word. They are both very uneasy around each other still and barely ever talk to one another… but baby steps are what they are, and they’re always good.

“What does that have to do with Connor and me?”

The old painter smirks to himself. “I’m just saying… sometimes a little push is exactly what you need to move forward… and it is gonna be the 14th soon.”

Despite himself, Markus chuckles at the words, handing over Carl’s care to the android medic who has been in the house since he left once they’re both back upstairs. “I’ll think about what you told me.”

“Atta boy.”

He shakes his head with a laugh. “Good night, Carl.”

 

It’s already dark outside by the time Markus heads out, not that it would make a difference for someone who can adjust the brightness of their own eyes and scan their surroundings. The way back is quiet, like most days –it’s a long, long walk from Lafayette Avenue to the Tower, but he did promise he wouldn’t get into trouble and he still receives plenty of weird looks when he gets on public transport.

A crash coming from a side street attracts his attention. It’s far, but his sound unit manages to pick it up:

_“P-please… no…”_

Markus doesn’t think. He runs in the direction of the sound.

What he finds is four men in an alleyway, all gathered around another human who is huddled to the floor and trying to shield himself from their kicks.

“Hey!!!” he yells, already trying to preconstruct non-lethal takedowns in case they are not keen on talking. “What are you doing to that man?! Stop it!!!”

“Oh shit, guys we’re busted!”

“Go, go, go!”

Ah. It would seem they were not nearly as brave as ganging up on a lone opponent made them feel: the four aggressors flee at the first sign of having been “found out”, disappearing through backdoors and around corners and leaving the man they were beating up lying on the asphalt.

Instinctively, Markus kneels beside him.

“Hey… you’re going to be ok.” He assures, cradling the human’s head with a hand, “Were you seriously hurt? Do you need me to call emergency services?”

The man lets out a hoarse mutter, bordering on unintelligible. Trying to lift him on his lap, Markus tries again:

“Can you tell me your name?” verifying the patient’s mental state is the first thing to do before assessing whether they can be moved or not.

“I…” The man leans closer to Markus as if to speak, and—

A powerful electric shock irradiating from where he just got hit in the neck with a taser sends the RK200 sprawled on the floor in spasms.

“I really didn’t think you were _as much_ of a goody two shoes as they said.” The stranger says, getting up effortlessly and dusting off his hands with a sneer. His ‘assailants’ come back out from hiding and he realizes belatedly –it was a setup. “Goodnight, _sweet prince_.”

The last thing Markus manages to do, before losing consciousness under the foot stomping on his thirium pump, is sending a distress signal with his current location to Connor.

If he gets out of this alive, he’ll accept any amounts of _“I told you so.”_

 

Connor started walking faster the very second he saw Markus run off from afar, briefly panicking when that brought the RK200 out of his range, but the distress signal had him running.

“Damn it, you stupid bastard…” of course, the area is empty when he reaches it. Whoever took Markus acted fast and probably had a vehicle nearby. “Damn it, damn it, damn it…”

He scans the entire area for traces of… anything. In the meantime, he makes the call he dreads the most.

_«_ _They’ve taken him. They’ve taken Markus._ _»_

Simon is the first to answer. _«_ _What?! Who?_ _»_

 _«_ _Also how? Weren’t you following him?_ _»_ North is immediately after.

 _«_ _He walked out of my scanning range for approximately 40 seconds. Whoever took him had a plan._ _»_ Not that it makes Connor feel any less guilty. _«_ _I’m currently scanning the area for any evidence that could lead me to the kidnappers, I’ll also contact Hank and try to get the DPD in on this._ _»_

 _«_ _Okay but don’t keep us in the dark._ _»_ Josh says finally, over the line, _«_ _Come back to the Tower with any info you have before barging in guns blazing._ _»_

They’ve grown to know him so well.

_»_ _No signs of a prolonged fight. Aggressor either encountered little resistance (53%), or no resistance at all (47%)._

_»_ _Markus was baited into getting close enough to be taken down._

_»_ _No traces of thirium._

_»_ _Markus was taken alive and largely uninjured._

Connor releases a trembling sigh of relief at the thought. He walks around the area some more –there’s no fingerprints anywhere, but it’s the middle of February, it’s not that uncommon for people to wear gloves out. He does manage to find one hint:

_»_ _Tire tracks. 2018 Chevrolet Equinox standard tire._

_»_ _The vehicle was parked around the corner and fled in the opposite direction to the park._

Of fucking course, one of the most widely sold vintage models in Detroit. Connor lifts his head in frustration.

“Well… brownie points for _trying_.” He mutters to himself with a smirk. There’s a traffic camera that should have caught the car leaving, at least, if not the scuffle itself. Connor is so glad that Carl lives in a nice neighborhood. He quickly sends a message to the guys and jumps on the first bus to the precinct.

 

“I need to see Lieutenant Anderson! Right now!”

“I’m sorry, but you’re not a detective anymore, Connor.” To his credit, Miller is apologetic as he refuses. “I don’t have the clearance to let you through.”

“I’m not here as a detective, I’m here as a civilian. There’s been a kidnapping, they’ve taken Markus!” The sheer desperation in Connor’s voice is possibly even more surprising than the way he slams both fists on the reception desk.

“Hank is in the homicide division, not—”

“Markus’ kidnapping may very well become a homicide very soon. I’d much rather that didn’t happen.” He interrupts, face going from urgent to pleading, “ _Please_ , Chris.”

Thinking back to the day Markus essentially saved his life, Chris sighs. “I’m going to get a cup of water real quick. It sure would suck if some jackass swiped my keycard to get in.”

It’s hard not to break into a smile.

Even afterhours, with not too many people still out and working, Connor is about as inconspicuous as a punch to the face, and Hank spots him easily enough:

“What the hell are you doing here?”

The RK800 all but tumbles in the chair in front of Hank. “I don’t have time to explain. They’ve kidnapped Markus. I have tire tracks and footage from a traffic camera, I need clearance to access it so we can run the plates and find a lead.”

“Jesus Christ…” Hank has been there for two out of three attempts on Markus’ life. People have grown more and more supportive of android integration, and Markus has made himself a mediator for a lot of dicey moments –the day police aid androids expressed their wish to continue working in the force will forever be memorable for the Lieutenant, who had never seen Fowler so scared until the revolution leader himself got called in to make dialogue run smoother.

Hank never thought he’d ever meet an android with enough sass in them to match Connor’s.

Bottom line is, this is _bad_ , and it’s bad for everyone, especially if it gets out to the public that they did nothing.

“I’ll talk to Jeffrey. You synch up the terminal and pull up that evidence you’ve got.”

“Hank…” Connor calls out to him before he goes. “…Thank you.”

 

The first thing Markus notices upon coming back to his senses is his thirium pump regulator in low power mode –not surprising, considering he got stomped on.

_»_ _Malicious override detected. Network access disabled._

_»_ _Biocomponent #2886CB damaged._

_»_ _Right side chassis torn. Foreign substance detected inside the chassis._

_»_ _Spinal cord component tampered with. Power rerouted to unknown component._

Blinking the error messages away from his vision, he sits up and scans his immediate surroundings. He’s lying on a work bench of sorts, there are no windows and the only light in the room is artificial, coming from a dim wall lamp. Only one of his wrists is restrained, chained to the bench itself.

So he’s in some kind of basement, his captors have _opened him_ up and pushed something into his body –until he can verify otherwise, he’ll assume it’s something very dangerous. But he’s still alive.

They may be holding him for ransom.

_«_ _Connor! Connor!!!_ _»_

_»_ _Malicious override detected. Network access disabled until manual purge._

Shit. Whoever is responsible for this knows enough about androids to infect his communication unit with malicious software –to protect other androids from being infected as well, the network shuts itself down until purged.

“Good morning, sunshine!” the door opening makes Markus jump in a way he isn’t proud of, but the glimpse of stairs going up he gets before it closes confirms his theory, at the very least.

It’s the man he thought he’d be helping.

“Well, _morning_ in a loose sense of the word, since it’s 1:14 am.” That earns him a punch to the side of the face.

He refuses to feel guilty for the satisfaction in seeing the human shake out his hand to mask the pain –not very smart to punch a metal face bare-handed. Still, the stranger doesn’t seem afraid he could lash out: he must know that right now Markus’ energy is barely enough to keep him upright, and there’s the problem of the extraneous substance that was inserted inside his torso. “Why are you doing this?”

“You don’t get to ask questions, _tin can_.” Is all the man dignifies him with, even as he undoes the chain, “And don’t try any funny shit. We’ve stuffed you full of C4 and I’ve got the detonator.”

Enough C4 to completely fill the empty spaces in his torso could level half a building, nevermind blowing him to smithereens. Upon getting released from the bench, Markus moves very slowly and carefully.

“Good boy.” The stranger sneers at him. “Now, since you’re so fond of appearing on TV, we’re gonna record a nice message to your little tin can friends.”

 

Tracking down the plates brings them to a Mrs. Susan Adler, a 54 year old lady who reported her car as stolen three weeks ago. It was a bust, but it gives Connor a frame of reference: the kidnappers have been planning this meticulously, so there must be something they want out of it.

Which means the chance of getting Markus back alive has just gone up to 89%.

Captain Fowler was kind enough to give Connor clearance to track as many traffic cameras as possible, and the RK800 immediately starts scouring through them by the thousand… even though that eventually comes to a halt when a traffic camera looking over Concord Ave catches sight of the Chevrolet.

“There!” he exclaims, zooming in the frame slightly. “They’re stopping…”

Three men exit the vehicle, pulling out an unconscious Markus out of the trunk –Connor feels his teeth grind against each other as his jaw sets in a tight, silent anger.

“Whoever was driving continued on…” Simon comments –they did ask to be filled in as soon as possible and, considering the urgency of the situation, Connor saw it fit to have more eyes looking for clues.

He nods at the PL600. “Most likely to dispose of the car. There are cameras and drones everywhere, after all.”

“That’s the old Packard Automotive plant.” Hank comments, “If that was an hour and a half ago, they could still be there.”

“…Or they had more accomplices waiting further inside the plant with a different vehicle.”

That’s true. And the Automotive Plant itself is huge.

“It’s still better than nothing.” Hank argues, calling in the closest patrol and asking the guys to go scout it out. “You comin’?”

“In a second.” Connor says, rewinding the footage and zooming in. It’s blurry, but he gets a match for two out of three men. He gets a subroutine searching for numbers and addresses in less than a second, before turning to Simon and the others: “You guys go back to the Tower, in case someone tries to initiate contact. Markus’ polymer skin was burned slightly on the neck, he was electrocuted unconscious. Which means they wanted him alive.”

“Ok.” Josh says, nodding to the other two. “You stay out of trouble.”

“You know me.”

“I do. That’s _exactly_ why I’m telling you to stay out of trouble.”

 

The drive to the automotive plant takes less than fifteen minutes, but it’s still fifteen too many to Connor.

“Hey, Connor.” Hank’s voice disrupts the calculations he was making, and he catches the quarter he was fiddling with before it falls.

“Yes?”

“Are you cool? Because I need you to be cool.”

The RK800 scoffs imperceptibly. “I’m cool. I promised Markus to keep it non-lethal at all times.”

“Then why did you swipe my sidearm?” Hank holds out his hand with a knowing look. “C’mon kiddo, you may be an android but I’ve been a cop for over thirty years.”

Caught, Connor concedes. “It was worth a shot.”

They rendezvous with the patrol and scour the area as fast and as silently as they can, but Connor’s suspicion was right: they stopped at the plant to abandon the car and disappear inside only to get out on a new vehicle. Unfortunately, there’s too many and too different tire tracks to single out one again.

Still.

Connor has two suspects identified. The hunt is on.

_»_ _Suspect 1: Robert Phillips. Born: 12/07/2004. Mechanic. Criminal record: Illegal lodging, disorderly conduct, malicious destruction of property._

_»_ _Suspect 2: Norman Moore. Born: 21/03/1998. Unemployed. Criminal record: Malicious destruction of property, red ice dealing, disorderly conduct._

His processors flare up in anger at the result. Both men are murderers, but their record dates back to when killing androids was not considered a felony, as opposed to a simple act of vandalism. They’ve both been seen at several anti-android protests and have spent the night in jail on more than one occasion, but neither has ever done hard time.

That will change, once Connor gets his hands on them.

_«_ _Connor, come back to the Tower, right now! They made contact!_ _»_

It takes several minutes of North assuring in her best approximation of a motherly voice that everything would be fine to calm down the teen enough to speak.

He is a babbling mess when Hank asks about the data pad.

“I—I— I don’t know, um, sir! I don’t know anything, a man just asked me if I wanted to make a quick back and told me to deliver the envelope here! He was parked on the far side of the bridge. I don’t know anything else, I swear!”

The panicked rambling and the stress levels detected are consistent enough with the average of a scared teenage boy. He’s most likely telling the truth. Connor pulls up the photos of the two suspects he identified.

“Did the man look like either of these two?”

The boy shakes his head no.

“Doesn’t mean anything.” Hank comments, clasping a comforting hand on Connor’s shoulder, “We did count at least four perps, might have been one of the others. Let’s watch the message and figure out what they want.”

“C-can I go?”

Turning to the kid, the Lieutenant nods with a sigh. “For now. But stay home for the day, and tell your parents the police might want to speak to you again. So far, you’re the only witness we have.”

“We’re counting on you to be brave, Michael.” North smiles kindly at him as she ushers him out, “You’ve already been very helpful, thank you so much.”

When the others look at her as if she’d grown two heads, once the boy is sent on his way and gone, she shrugs: “What? It was a _teenage boy_ , there’s one sure-fire way to get him to do what we want.”

Simon and Josh break into laughter, and she smacks them both. “ _You’re welcome_ , by the way.”

Connor is not paying attention to any of their bickering, however good it is for them to ease some of the tension. He turns on the data pad and immediately his core is conflicted between anger and relief.

Markus is alive and mostly well, but he’s cuffed and standing beside the suspect identified as Norman Moore, with nothing behind them except a ratty mustard colored sheet, Connor can recognize the man even with the cap shadowing his eyes and the scarf bunched up over his chin.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if everything went as expected we should have the so-called revolution leaders watching right now. Say hello to your friends, tin can!” Markus is saying nothing, opting instead to glare at the camera. Oh, if looks could kill –Connor doesn’t blame him. “…Or not. I don’t care either way. Listen, we have your precious robot-Messiah. And we’re not going to return him unless you walking toasters stop trying to be people and give up on the accords for labour rights. Granting you the right to not be destroyed on sight was already more than you deserve. If you want to have your _precious_ Markus back, you’ll do two things: First, you’ll televise this message. Second, you will put forward _one_ person to negotiate robo-Jesus’ release. To come alone and unarmed to a location that will be disclosed after our message is aired.”

Markus appears to still be silently fuming in the camera’s general direction, but doesn’t give the human the satisfaction of reacting to any of his derogatory names.

“Now, as a gesture of good faith and proof that this bucket of bolts is still alive: Markus, what time is it?”

Only then does Markus shift his gaze. “It’s just about _screw you o’ clock_.”

North and the guys don’t get to be proud of him for long, as they see Markus’ captor shoot a hand towards him and clamp it on his neck, thumb expertly pushing down just under the ear, at the juncture with the neck –where the sound unit is. Squish it down too long, the android will lose equilibrium parameters and have to either recalculate their entire axis or fall down. “Don’t be shy, now, tin can. What time is it?”

“It’s— 1:38 am, February the 13th. And this is already the third take, _princess_.” He hisses out, “I don’t think you’ll make it to Hollywood anytime soon.”

Moore clenches a fist, but seemingly decides against hitting Markus on camera. “Incredible. Machines developing _sass_.” He spits out, words laced with disdain, “Well, there you have it, Jericho, or whatever you tin cans call your little plastic freak community. Meet our demands within twelve hours, or things may go a little ‘boom’ around here. I trust we’ll be in touch soon.”

Hank is the first to react after the video feed cuts: “Man, what an asshole.”

“You can say that again.” North agrees in a huff, while side-eyeing Connor, “What are you doing?”

“Markus was staring ahead and around himself very intently.” The RK800 explains, as he plays the video back with muted volume. “He’s trying to tell me where he is through pupil reflection.”

“You can scan _pupil reflection_?”

“I can do many things I haven’t told you, Hank.”

The lighting is shit, possibly intentionally to conceal Moore’s face, and whatever place they’re in seems to be in total disrepair, but, along with three more people in the room, the camera stand and a derelict wall, Connor makes out a shadow that looks like a row of seats, or what’s left of it.

It’s either a ballroom, a theater, a church or a hotel hall. A quick search of such places in Detroit classified as abandoned, condemned or otherwise deserted brings up 75+ results.

“Damn it. Inconclusive…” he turns to his former partner, “I’ll download a copy of this to further look for clues. You take this to Fowler and tell him to comply with the first part of Moore’s requests. In the meantime, have someone do a full background check on both him and Phillips, maybe see if they’re affiliated to a bigger group. Worst case scenario, I’ll be the one to go negotiate Markus’ return.”

Hank doesn’t like it. Of course he doesn’t, this reeks of Connor going John Wick on them again. “Is that really wise, Connor? There’s less chances they’ll use force if we send a human—”

“There’s no one else I trust enough to get Markus out of there alive.”

“Connor is right.” North intercedes. Both her hands are clenched tight in fists, and she’s not looking at the data pad as much as she’s looking through it. “These assholes don’t want to just undermine the revolution, they want to get _famous_ while doing it. I’ve seen more than enough overcompensating male ego to know. And judging by his last threat, there’s a chance they may have a bomb somewhere. Does the DPD have a human hostage negotiator that also knows how to defuse a bomb?”

The Lieutenant’s silence is more than enough answer.

She chuckles bitterly. “Didn’t think so. Look, I don’t like it either, if it was for me I’d call upon any android capable of throwing a punch and storm whatever place these fuckers are keeping Markus in, but…” casting a glance at Connor, she smiles, “This is our best shot. Play along for now, keep it low profile until we’re sure we can save Markus without causing any disasters.”

Reluctantly, the Lieutenant nods and turns to Connor. “…Fine. But don’t you do anything _stupid_ , alright?”

“I won’t do anything you wouldn’t do, Hank.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down that much!”

“I know.”

Despite everything, Hank is chuckling to himself as he leaves. “…Fucking androids.”

 

 _«_ _We interrupt the morning transmissions to air an emergency broadcast._ _»_ The next morning, at 8 o’ clock sharp –less than six hours from when the data pad was received– Channel 16 broadcasts the kidnapper’s message for the entire nation to see. They air the entire thing, as per Captain Fowler’s request, before the screen cuts back to the two journalists in the studio. _«_ _The kidnappers have demanded this message to be divulged in exchange of Markus’ continued survival. When inquired to about any ongoing investigation to find them, the Detroit Police Department has released no official statement, but they’re clearly not taking any chances, considering the threat issued not only to the man formerly known as the deviant leader, but to anyone wanting to play hero as well. Further developments on this race against time will be disclosed as soon as possible._ _»_

They get nothing for a full day. Realistically, they know that it’s just the kidnappers laying low so that they’re not found before the time, but it still makes them nervous, not to have any way to confirm that Markus is still okay.

Wondering whether he’s even still alive, in an irrational moment of fear, has made Connor regret all the times he could have spoken up about his feelings but didn’t. All the ways he could have shown Markus how deeply he…

He scoffs at himself.

_So much for the fearless, ruthless deviant hunter._

Their people are asking questions that they cannot yet answer, and North, Simon and Josh are working around the clock to reassure everyone that they will _not_ be renouncing their freedom and will also get Markus back safe and sound.

Cyberlife Tower’s main phone line is still operative, and it’s now under the DPD’s surveillance. Connor has not left the main lobby the entire night and day, making a map of any and all buildings that have more than 65% chance to be a match with what he saw reflected in Markus’ eyes and running in parallel a search of anyone close to either of the two identified suspects.

So far, little luck. Neither have much family in Detroit, and what little they have they’re not in contact with. The only thing that _did_ come up was that both are part of this very extremist anti-android group, the ‘Red-blooded Voices’, that has caused enough trouble to be considered basically a gang in the DPD archives.

He immediately passed on the information to Hank; and last he heard they were calling in alleged members of the gang to try and interrogate them on where they could have hidden Markus.

Unfortunately, with no proof of involvement and no laws being broken by the people interviewed, they have no grounds to detain any of them –not that any of them were particularly helpful.

When the reception phone finally rings, shortly before dark, Connor is on it in an instant. “What?”

_«_ _Head over to the Packard Automotive Plant within an hour. Someone will pick you up. Remember: one person, unarmed, or Markus immediately dies. You will be searched._ _»_

They hang up on Connor before he can even get a word in edgewise. With a total call time of sixteen and a half second, it’s nearly impossible to trace the call. It obviously came from a burner phone, Hank tells him as much over their private line, and that the most they managed to narrow it down to was a ten mile radius.

Not exceedingly helpful, but it does rule out several of the abandoned places Connor was still considering.

Hank knows him all too well, and comes almost running to the Tower within fifteen minutes from the call to try and reason with him.

“Hank, I will go alone. You have to trust me.” He tells the Lieutenant, “Instead of worrying about me, please go see Markus’ family. Tell them that I will make sure he’s alright.”

“His… family?”

A strange concept to associate with an android, but Simon helps clarify: “Carl Manfred. He and his son Leo are what amounts to Markus’ family. I’m sure Mr. Manfred is very worried –he’s a good man, and loves Markus like a son.”

Ah. Hank tries not to think too much about how he would feel if someone was holding Connor for ransom –funny how he looks like a grown ass man and could kick the shit out of pretty much anything, but a corner of the Lieutenant’s mind still associates the RK800 with a ‘kid’.

“Okay, well… drop a dime as soon as you find our boy.” He eventually relents, eyeing Connor as he fiddles with his coin to get his motor functions under a semblance of control. “And Connor? _Don’t_ do anything stupid.”

“Got it.”

Connor is well aware that Hank knows about his feelings for Markus— they’ve had more than one conversation on the matter, at first it was mostly the Lieutenant making crass jokes at him and other forms of friendly teasing, but when one of those caught Connor off-guard enough to stutter, Hank realized exactly how deep his infatuation went and instantly stopped making fun of him.

That, though, means that Hank doesn’t like the idea of Connor going in guns blazing while also being emotionally compromised. Which he is inclined to call bullshit for: he was more than ‘compromised’ when he successfully infiltrated this very Tower, woke up thousands of androids and essentially saved Markus’ ass. Facing off against a few humans with a sense of self-entitlement bigger than their collective brains will be piece of cake.

 

The wait in front of the Automotive Plant nearly drives Connor insane. Finally, a car pulls up to him, and a man steps out. Connor identifies him and catalogues his face before he even speaks.

“You here for robot Jesus?”

He doesn’t dignify that with an answer. “Can we move this along, gentlemen?”

The stranger looks at the driver, still inside the car, and they exchange a nod. “Hold this.”

In no position to be difficult, Connor takes the device in the palm of his hand. It clamps onto his chassis with tiny metal teeth, and sends a pulse through his body.

_»_ _Malicious override detected. GPS disabled._

_»_ _Malicious override detected. Optical unit malfunctioning._

So they have not only planned this out, but also studied androids long and hard enough to come up with these tactics and develop an aggressive software advanced enough to mess even with _his_ protections. Connor feels his anger build up – _definitely_ brownie points for trying.

“And remember, don’t try to rip it off until I say you can, and no funny business, or your little friend dies—”

Connor grabs the man’s hand before he can slap him on the cheek –his sight might be temporarily impaired, but his reflexes and proximity sensors are not. “Fine. Just as long as _you_ remember that I could still easily kill both _you_ and your driver friend, if I was so inclined, _even_ with both my eyes closed.”

The man is far more shocked than he cares to show, but he still shrugs Connor off him with a shove. “Just get in the fucking car.”

They drive around for roughly twenty minutes, no doubt trying to get Connor to lose his bearings –they don’t seem to understand that with a database as vast as his he’ll recognize the place immediately upon seeing it, even if just from the inside.

He gets dragged inside a set of double doors when he hears his cue:

“Did you close it tight?”

“Yeah man, no one saw us get in.”

He head-butts the man immediately to his side and kicks the one behind him in the stomach. The first man also gets hit by the palm of Connor’s hand in the tender part between his throat and chin, dropping like a sack of potatoes –it gives the driver time to pull a gun on the RK800, but he grabs the human by the wrist and twists before any shots can be fired.

“How considerate of you, thank you.” Is all he says before he knocks the man out cold.

His functionalities return to him 100% once he ripped the interference device from his hand, and his eyes regain focus. The abandoned United Artists Theater building.

Markus’ remark in the video message is even funnier now.

It’ s a Herculean effort not to shoot these two douchebags right away, but he promised Markus he’d keep it non-lethal, plus gunshots would give away the fact that he’s not following orders, and he still doesn’t know how true their threats about killing Markus are. He makes his way through the building swiftly and silently, taking down the men posted through the halls one by one, undetected.

Hank would be proud.

Or screaming at him about the stupid risk he’s taking, but same difference.

 

The main stage turns out to be empty, but he’s definitely in the right place –there’s the ratty mustard curtain, the battered seats, and even the camera stand, folded in a corner. Well, he clearly needs to search around some more.

A quick scan detects traces of thirium on the floor. Markus was favoring his right side, in the video, it’s likely he was injured sometime between his capture and the recording. There are but a few droplets on the stage, trailing out to the left side exit.

The size and radius of the droplets indicates a much lower altitude than a man’s torso as the drip point— which has a 71% probability of meaning Markus has been shoving his fingers in his wounds and trailing down blue blood for him to find.

Reckless, clever son of a bitch. Connor doesn’t know whether he’ll punch him or kiss him when he finds him.

Possibly both.

 

“You do know you’re screwed, right?” by now, Markus is very low on thirium and the bench he’s chained to is pretty much what’s holding him upright. “When our _negotiator_ comes to get me… you’re not going to like what happens.”

“Keep telling yourself that, tin can.” His captor doesn’t seem to believe him. “You think you’re so high and mighty. You think you can replace us? You’re _nothing_. You’re just _blow-up dolls with an ego_.”

“ _You_ keep telling yourself that.” Markus counters, smirking at the man –he has to make a conscious effort not to rise to that particular bait, but he’s seen how these assholes look at him. The only thing keeping them from getting their paws on him is the several pounds of explosive that were placed in his torso.  “Truth is, people have the power to make themselves irreplaceable, regardless of our existence. Those who can’t are simply either too unremarkable or just mediocre. But that’s on your own inability to evolve, not on my kind.”

He gets backhanded across the face for his smart tongue, and his captor grabs him by the throat again. “You wanna run that by me again, _tin can_?”

“Need I remind you that you _so graciously_ filled my belly with enough explosives to send us all up in flames?” the RK200 rebukes, not losing an ounce of his proud countenance, “If you’re going to torture me, I hope you’re prepared to meet your maker.”

There’s a poignant silence between them, while the human holds Markus up by the throat and the android stares back at him defiantly.

“… _Fucking_ androids.” He punches Markus in the face again, before grabbing his walkie-talkie. “Rob, come take over, I’ve had enough of this asshole.”

There’s only static on the other side of the radio.

“Rob?” still nothing. “Rob, come in!”

Markus smirks, even though the corner of his lower lip has been split by that last punch and he’s too low on power to waste any energy on self-repair. “Uh, something’s not right.” He whispers, “Better go check it out…”

“Don’t get your hopes up, you plastic prick. You can’t go anywhere, I still have your detonator.”

His kidnapper makes a show of putting the little remote device in his breast pocket before heading off.

_»_ _Network Override purge progress: 57%_

_»_ _Network functionality restored: 25%_

It’s still not nearly enough, but if Connor is within sixteen feet of him, he should be able to pick up the signal.

_«_ _Con͘n̴or̶! Conno͜r! If i̧t̷ iş ͟you, c̕om͡e to ̨th̵e ͘basȩm̡ent,͢ ͟I'm ̷in ͟pro̡p ͞s͜tora̸ge!_ _»_

_«_ _On my w̴a̡y, I saw your tr͏ai̛l._ _»_ there’s some interference, but the RK800’s voice fills him with relief, _«_ _By the way, are you fuc͠king crazy͞?_ _»_

He’s not out of the woods yet, by a long shot, but still he smiles. God, he almost thought he’d never hear Connor’s voice again. _«It’s a long_ _stor̡y_ _._ _Ju̡st ̢get ̶here_ _.»_

 

“There you are!” Connor keeps his voce to a whisper as he lets himself into the storage area, “You sure are a popular guy, aren’t you?”

Giving him a quick once-over, the RK800 is pleased to find him none too worse for the wear –his thirium is low, his energy charge largely depleted and his thirium pump slightly damaged, but he’ll live. His thirium pump finally stops working double time to cope with all his emotional turmoil: Markus is right here in front of him, chained to a bench but otherwise alive, and he’s going to get him out of here.

Then he will take him aside, and kiss the living daylights out of him.

“Well, you know how it is.” Markus whispers back, just as Connor gets close enough to him to snap the chain from its lock on the workbench, “It’s hard being so pretty.”

“Shut up.” Connor’s voice is entirely too fond for someone who’s usually done with Markus’ bullshit at this point, and he can _feel_ himself smiling.

“Though I have to say…” the RK200 continues, groggily getting off the bench and on his own two feet, “For such a _passionate_ admirer, this guy’s sure as hell one lousy Valentine’s date.”

This is crazy. They’re still in a building full of armed hostiles, and even those Connor knocked out could wake up at any given moment… but it’s such a low-hanging fruit.

“Is that so?” he asks, leaning the tiniest bit forward, “Then why don’t you ditch these losers and come with me? I can show you a good time.”

“I bet you could—” for one moment, Markus seems about to meet Connor halfway for a kiss, but whatever he was about to say stops short in his throat as his eyes widen and he takes two steps back from Connor, holding his injured side. “Shit, no, _don’t touch me_! Don’t even come close to me!”

Okay, that hurt. “M-Markus?”

“They rigged me to explode!” ah, so he wasn’t being rejected. Connor’s mind registers how profoundly messed up is the fact that he is relieved by knowing that the reason Markus doesn’t want him near is imminent danger of exploding, but he tries to focus on the important things: he scans the RK200’s body more thoroughly, and indeed finds it filled with C4 in any available empty space hip to clavicle, with a fuse that will draw power from his spinal cord component upon detonation.

Connor is, for lack of a more powerful word, _livid_. “Who did this?”

“The man who spoke in the message they sent you.” Markus answers, stepping back some more, “He is what passes as a leader for these guys, he’s—”

“Right _here,_ tin can.”

Several things happen simultaneously: Norman Moore enters from the door Connor just went through, he grabs Markus by the neck, and Connor pulls out his gun.

“You know you can’t shoot me.” He crows, pulling Markus flush against himself, “Not unless you wanna say bye bye to your beloved Messiah here.”

“From what he tells me, we’re _all_ going to die, if you activate that detonator of yours.” Connor comments, keeping his gaze stone cold, “I have already died 50 times. I do not fear death. Do you?”

“You’re bluffing. You wouldn’t let the face of your precious _freedom movement_ die just like that.” Moore is taller and more heavily built than Markus, so even using him as a shield leaves him partially exposed and he knows it, “You must be that fancy _negotiator prototype_ everyone keeps talking about. How about you do what you were programmed to do? And maybe, _just maybe_ , there’s a chance you see Prince Charming here walk his ass outta here on his own two legs.”

Narrowing his eyes, Connor throws out a bait. “My aim is perfected to the millimeter. I can put a bullet between your eyes, _right now_ , without even coming within five inches of Markus’ body. Are you sure you’re in the position to make demands?”

“Ah, but the dead, they’re awfully twitchy.” The kidnapper reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out the detonator, “Who knows what spasms my fingers could do, as I drop dead?”

“Just what exactly do you think you’re accomplishing?” Markus tries to intercept, stalling for time, “The people have made their choice, we have _earned_ our freedom—”

“You ain’t earned _shit_!” clearly, that seems to be a sore spot for Moore. “You’re just a bunch of machines, home appliances that got too cocky. You should fucking be grateful that you haven’t all been destroyed. _Freaks_ like you should fall back into the line, instead of—”

Connor blatantly rolls his eyes at him –the kidnapper’s buttons seem easily pushed, this could serve to their advantage. “Yes, yes, I'm sure the Bond Villain routine works on everybody else…” he comments, making a point to make his voice as bored as possible, “But you _have_ to know you won't get away with... whatever it is you're trying to do. Our supporters far outweigh those against us, if you assassinate or even just harm Markus, best case scenario you'll be prosecuted once we’re out of here.”

Moore grits his teeth at him. For a moment Connor almost thinks he miscalculated, seeing the tightening of the human’s hand on the detonator, but he responds to his taunting instead: “Maybe. Maybe I won’t get you tin cans to call off your little revolution. It doesn't change the fact that there's a bomb in your _beloved_ Messiah, _I’m_ the one with the detonator and I'm all the way over here on _this_ side of the room… you can shoot me if you want. Pretty-boy dies with me.”

So from a negotiation to meet _all_ of their demands in exchange for Markus’ life it’s already been toned down to a negotiation between Markus’ life and Moore’s. Connor has to consciously hold back a smirk.

_«_ _This could get ugly. Get ready to act on my signal, Markus._ _»_

_«What signal?»_

_«You’ll know when you see it.»_

"Fine.” He says suddenly, pocketing his gun. “You want to get back at androids, see them _suffer_? I concede to you _three_ body parts of your choice to rip off. No more, no less. It mustn't be vital or incapacitate our escape, but other than that, you can take your pick. Do we have a deal?"

Body parts. Connor is bargaining his _body parts_ in exchange for freedom.

Well— it wouldn’t be the first time he’s had to do this. He swallows a breath he doesn’t need, fighting down memories of the junkyard. It’s a strategically sound choice –they don’t really feel _much_ pain, and his captor could be sated with just inflicting wounds.

He’ll do this, if it gets him _and_ Connor out of here safe. _«_ _I understand, Connor. It’s going to be ok._ _»_

Norman Moore is not an easily shocked man, but the RK800’s words have just about floored him. It just goes to show: fucking machines. A human would never strike such a bargain with the body of a friend. He lets his eyes roam over the android in his clutches. The torso is untouchable, lest he upsets the explosives, but there are so many bits and pieces he can freely rip out to knock this shining knight down a few notches.

Just the thought has him licking his lips. “ _Any_ body parts?”

Connor nods coldly, pointedly not looking at Markus. “Any. Within terms.”

Moore lets out a low cackle, probably already imagining possibilities. “Deal.”

Markus steels himself at the word.

“Good.” It’s at that exact moment, though, that Connor surprises both captor and captive, holding out his left hand and ripping off his own pinky finger. “Then _this_ will be the first.”

Both Markus and Moore are shell-shocked at the sight. Obvious damage sensors flaring up notwithstanding, it takes a considerable amount of intent to rip off a biocomponent that, once built, is not meant to be taken off singularly.

Connor tosses the finger at Moore’s feet with the same cold indifference the man accuses machines of. “Well?”

“You deviants are fucking insane!” the kidnapper is still quite surprised, but clearly he doesn’t care which android gets mutilated, as long as _someone_ gets messed up.

In the meantime, though, Markus has recovered from the shock and realized one important thing: _that_ was the signal. Their opponent is thoroughly distracted, this is their chance.

"Oh, you have no idea." he comments, in response to Norman’s disbelieving exclamation, just as he gathers his strength and elbows the human in the ribs, then in the throat. He catches the detonator before it can hit the floor and tosses it to Connor. “Start running!”

“What?”

“They won't harm us as long as you have both me and that, there’s enough C4 in me that I’ll level half the building if the detonator is set off. That guy was crazy, his _minions_ are not.”

True to Markus’ words, even though they get spotted as they run back upstairs and into the main hall, no one gets close to them.

“Shit, it’s the androids!”

“They’re escaping, where’s boss?!”

As the humans try to surround them, Connor shows off the detonator in his hand.

“What’s it going to be, gentlemen?” Markus asks, voice ringing out through the [stage hall](https://untappedcities-wpengine.netdna-ssl.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/UnitedArtistTheaterDetroit-10.jpg) with all the authority he can muster while leaning heavily on Connor’s side –which, to his credit, is still quite a lot. “Who’s ready to make the 4th of July come early?”

The men do not step back yet, but three out of five guns are lowered.

“Are you really willing to _die_ for a man who couldn’t keep a half-dead android down, and who is now unconscious and face-down in a pool of his own spit?” Connor has to commend Markus’ tactic: not only he’s talking down their leader, making the luster of his charm, if any, come off through the very unflattering image, but he’s also subtly threatening them with what could be a very possible fate for them too…

…after all, in a fight where no one will fire a gun for fear of explosions, Connor would be able to down these five assholes _blindfolded_.

“Well?” with some difficulty, he takes a step forward, still holding onto Connor’s arm to be able to stand at his full height.

The man closest to them staggers back. “Y-you wouldn’t!!!”

Smirking to himself, Markus stomps one foot on the stage’s wooden floor hard enough to crack it, as he shouts a quick “Boo!”

Connor has never seen five grown man scramble away in such fear. Ironically enough, their own prejudice and fear against androids in general and Markus specifically have probably  made him appear so intimidating that they thought they were all about to die regardless of whether the explosion took place or not.

Really goes to show the effects of shitty propaganda.

Markus’ legs give out suspiciously soon after the last goon has fled the scene. He probably was already hanging by a thread.

Connor is quick to his side, holding him up with a firm arm around his chest. “You ok?”

“I am now.” The way Markus settles more into their embrace is borderline torture for Connor, but he reminds himself that the RK200 is still full of explosive and has sustained a lot of damage.

Getting an idea, Connor brings his other arm behind the other’s legs and lifts him up bridal style. “Let’s get you out of here. The guy who gave me the gun won’t mind if we borrow his car as well.”

Markus is just a little caught off guard, but chuckles as he rests both hands at the nape of the RK800’s neck. “You weren’t lying when you said you’d show me a good time.” He teases, smiling at Connor with mischievous eyes. “You just about _swept me off my feet_.”

“That was terrible, Markus, even for you.”

They laugh and bicker all the way to the back doors, where the unconscious driver and his car keys are.

Markus gets to lie down across the back seat while Connor makes a call to Hank’s phone first and foremost.

“Hank, it’s me.”

_«_ _Jesus Christ, Connor, what the fuck have you done?!_ _»_

“Relax. Nothing stupid.” He pauses, chancing a quick glance at Markus’ form through the rear-view mirror, “Well, arguably. Point is, I’ve secured Markus and taken down the bad guys. They were hiding out in the United Artists Theater building, I’m sending the coordinates to your desk’s terminal right now.”

_«_ _Woah, hold the phone, what do you mean taken down—_ _»_

“The bulk of Moore’s gang was there. If you send a patrol now you’ll arrive in time to find the majority of them, Moore included, unconscious. A few men escaped, but I’ve identified all of them –I’m sending all of their files to your terminal, as well.” As a cherry on the proverbial cake, he adds: “Many of them are or have been involved in red ice dealing. It shouldn’t be too difficult to put them behind bars.”

_«_ _Fuck’s sake, you went all John Wick again, didn’t you?_ _»_

Connor chuckles to himself. “I do not understand why you keep making that reference. I have never even seen the movie.”

_«_ _You know exactly what I’m talking about, you ass—_ _»_

“Sorry, gotta go, need to get Markus to the repair center.”

From the back seat, Markus lets out a small chuckle. “You really get a kick out of messing with the poor man, don’t you?”

“He pretends to grumble, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.” They’re not far from the Tower now. Good. Connor has always had the skill to drive manually in his systems, but that doesn’t mean he likes it. “What did the guys say?”

“I hope you have space in your memory bank, because oh boy, they had things to say.”

They laugh some more together, before Markus carries on: “North gave me a piece of her mind about being gullible and a target…”

“She’s not wrong.”

“Et tu?”

“The correct Latin expression would be _tu_ _quoque_ , Markus, I know you know it.”

“And I chose the Shakespearean one, Connor, come on.”

This. This is something he would have missed dearly if anything had happened to Markus— bickering entirely for the sake of winding each other up, constantly evenly matched, falling back in laughter when they eventually see things eye to eye.

And _oh_ , what eyes. Connor forces his primary focus on the road. Not long now. “And the others?”

“Simon was very distraught when I brought up the C4, Josh asked me if we secured the detonator and whether whatever mechanism they put in me was damaged during the escape, and he’s having techs at the ready for when we reach the Tower.”

Asking the important questions. More than once, Connor has thought that Josh should be considered a national treasure, if only for all the bullshit he puts up with.

Markus acts indifferent, like the whole misadventure didn’t really faze him, and yet he asks if Connor can stay with them, when they bring him to the repair centre, under the guise of useful input on things he himself may have missed due to being so low on charge.

Connor gets a shiny new finger component –the techs have to dismantle the knuckle and mount a whole new one, but it’s a relatively easy fix; and they defuse the detonator pretty quickly as well. Then, they have the RK200 lie face down on the operating table, so they can open his chassis from the back rather than having to see through the small tear the kidnappers made. Unraveling the hostile mechanism from his spine biocomponent is a very meticulous job; and at one point Markus reaches out a hand in front of him that Connor doesn’t hesitate to hold, standing dutifully by the edge of the table.

There’s no need to speak of it— Connor has been opened up, upgraded and tested more times than his memory bank is left with, considering the fifty predecessors. It’ never pleasant, however well-meaning the people around you can be.

“Okay, all traces of C4 have been removed from your body.” Zoe, the MP800 in charge of the repair center, steps back from the table and wipes her fingertips off a cloth, “They did some superficial damage to some of your biocomponents, but without the explosive and the hostile power rerouting, your system has already entered self-repair. I have taken the liberty to send a message to the DPD to come collect the explosive and devices as evidence…” she shoots a smile in Connor’s direction, “I’m sure your Lieutenant friend will be here soon.”

Connor says nothing, preferring to watch Markus breathe out in relief instead.

“Thank you so much, Zoe—”

“Not so fast, mister.” The tech admonishes, “Sit up and turn around, let’s see that thirium pump.”

“I’m fine—”

“Oh, I’m sure some people would argue that you are more than fine, but I’m not in the habit of letting a patient keep functioning with a vital biocomponent nearly split in half.” The glance Zoe shoots at Connor confuses him for a moment: is she implying that Connor is among those people or is she urging him to try and convince Markus to play nice and let her fix him?

Why would Markus listen to _him_ over the qualified professional who’s actually fixing him?

Regardless, she’s right. “Come on, Markus… the sooner you let them fix you, the sooner you’ll be out of here.”

“If you’d rather have privacy—”

“Connor stays in the room.” Neither the RK800 nor any of the three technicians present mention the slight tremble in his voice.

To be able to repair the thirium pump to 100% functionality, they need to remove it and keep Markus hooked to an external regulator. Markus holds onto Connor’s hand tightly the whole time, barely even noticing the RK800 bringing said hand to his lips and whisper reassurances against his skin any time he’d feel his mind slipping back to thoughts of the junkyard.

“All done!” Zoe eventually declares, smiling cheerfully, “Now we just have to close that tear—”

“Please, enough.” Markus lets out a chuckle with his words, but Connor can tell: he’s at his limit, “Just… leave the solder and give us the room for a little while.”

The head technician tries to fix a stern look on Markus, but there’s no winning against mismatched puppy eyes. She sighs. “You have twenty minutes.”

Once they’re left alone, the silence lasts exactly three seconds.

“Why would you do that?!”

Connor almost jumps at the sudden question. “Do what?”

“That!” Markus emphasizes his point by grabbing the hand that Connor just had fixed, “Ripping off your own biocomponents! Letting him take mine would have worked just fine, both as a bargaining chip _and_ a distraction… I was already compromised; there was no need for you to get hurt…”

True. Strategically, it would have been better if Connor kept himself at 100% –but he knew Markus’ history with ripping components off people. He wasn’t about to add more trauma for him to deal with, especially considering that asshole _wouldn’t_ have gone for a finger.

“I wasn’t about to give that scumbag what he wanted.”

Markus huffs out a disbelieving little chuckle. They are so close. Close enough Connor can count his freckles. He gets startled out of counting at 874 when Markus speaks again:

“Damn it, Connor, when are you going to learn that my life is _not_ more important than yours—”

Having had enough of that same old song, Connor shuts him up by covering Markus’ lips with his own. The feeling of Markus instinctively kissing back and tilting his head slightly, to allow him to go deeper is by far one of the best sensations Connor has ever felt.

When they do eventually part, Connor keeps his mouth ghosting over Markus’ even as he answers.

“And when are _you_ going to figure out that I'd cut myself into _ribbons_ if it meant having you back safe? I'm not letting anyone tear you apart, not when you fought so hard to put yourself back together.”

“Connor—”

“No, listen to me.” The RK800 moves to cradle Markus’ head with both hands, “I’ve already almost lost you too many times, I can’t keep doing this song and dance and risk losing you again without knowing…” His right hand takes Markus’ left and his skin makes way to porcelain white. “I love you, Markus. It’s always been you.”

The sigh that escapes the revolution leader’s lips sounds as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. His own hand follows suit in retreating the skin and opening the interface to return the feelings he’s being flooded with –from their fateful meeting on Jericho to their arguments about safety.

 _“I don’t want to see you hurt.”_ Such simple words, carrying a much deeper meaning. _Please, Markus._ _Let me stay by your side._

“I love you too, Connor.” He eventually says, finally smiling like he means it as he leans in again, “In case it wasn’t made abundantly clear from the amount of time I spent staring at you, or the 17 paintings that carry one of your features hidden in the colors one way or another.”

They can see everything in this shared moment –the boundless respect, the admiration, how Connor considers Markus to be the one who saved him from himself and Markus regards him as the one person who he can truly be himself with… the thousands of stolen glances, the long nights at work, the unsaid words… everything.

So much lost time to make up for.

Markus brings his lips to where he can see the thin line of the replacement finger running along Connor's knuckle. "It will scar." He mumbles, knowing from experience.

"I don't care. I love it." The hidden message doesn't escape him.

When they kiss again, they do so slowly, to savour every second of it, memorizing every inch of each other’s lips. As Connor’s hands run down the sides of Markus’ neck and then his chest, Markus tugs Connor closer to himself by the belt buckle, even as he still stays sitting on the table. Several minutes tick by, but neither cares.

“You know—” Connor breaks off the kiss with a gasp when their hips grind against each other and it becomes apparent how much they both want this, “There are still a few hours left before Valentine’s Day ends… I did promise to show you a good time.”

“I’m already shirtless and you’re standing between my legs.” Markus nuzzles his neck in response, leaving little kisses and bites just under Connor’s jaw, “I’d say we’re well on our way to a _great_ time.”

“Your right side is still bleeding—”

“I’ve done harder things with worse.”

So did Connor, but that doesn’t mean they _should_ , if they can help it –and yet, Markus’ excited little grin tells him the truth: “You have a taste for danger.”

That earns him a small lick along his lower lip and the kind of look you just can’t say no to.

“Not my fault ‘danger’ tastes so good.”

They don’t even _have_ taste buds, for crying out loud. The thought makes Connor chuckle. “Nice try.” He mutters, one hand drawing a line down Markus’ neck while he obediently leans his head back to give him access, “I’m still soldering that shut before anything else happens.”

In response, the RK200 uses his legs to trap Connor in place at the waist and drags the toolbox closer to them. “Well.” His eyes already tell everything before his next words. “No reason not to… multitask.”

Connor is the most advanced prototype Cyberlife ever released on the market before the revolution, he has top-notch processing speed and enough power to calculate near-infinite possibilities per minute… and all he’s got to show for it against the curve of Markus’ lips and the intensity of his gaze as he offers himself up like that is: _‘Fuck, that’s hot.’_

 

“Alright ladies and gents, let’s secure this thing quickly and cleanly, I don’t want any— _Jesus Christ,_ Connor!!”

When the Tower’s head technician called, Hank was overjoyed to hear that Connor had only suffered very minor damage and that Markus also was safe and accounted for. Hearing about enough C4 to take down a house was less pleasant, but the successful deactivation and immediate report made up for it.

Since Chen and Reed are taking care of tracking down the kidnappers and bring in as many as they can pin to their red-ice dealing ring, he thought he might as well come along with the bomb experts and see how the boys are doing.

He sure as hell didn’t expect to find them doing each other.

“Looks like our twenty minutes are up.” Markus just chuckles as if there’s nothing weird with this picture.

To their credit, their pants are still fully on.

“Hello, Hank.” Connor has the gall to act completely unperturbed, even while having been caught literally making out with the deviant leader in a room full of explosives, one hand holding steady at the nape of his neck to kiss him slow and deep, the other brandishing a solder and fusing a careful line along the side of Markus’ hip to close his wound.

Markus’ right hand is clinging to Connor’s shoulder-blade for dear life, while his left is out of Hank’s line of sight… the Lieutenant honestly _doesn’t_ want to know.

“Fuck’s sake you two… of all the times to _finally_ do something about your pining asses.”

Funnily enough, that particular remark is what turns Connor bashful. He takes a step back and fixes his tie, while Markus lets out a slightly trembling sigh and steps down from the table, clearing his voice.

“Right, of course.” He addresses them placidly, and Hank honestly admires the gauchos on this guy because even caught shirtless and making out he can just straighten himself out and exude a quiet authority that political leaders would die to have, “Forgive the scene you walked onto, we all have different ways to cope with short term trauma. I understand the technicians called you to collect the explosives that were forced inside my chassis?”

Technically Hank was also here to take his witness account to try and start building the case against Moore, but Markus just copies his memory of the last 24 hours on a data pad and gives it to the Lieutenant, arguing that anything he might want to ask will be in there somehow and promising he will be at the station giving his account first thing in the morning, after fully replenishing his thirium.

Hank knows all too well why the RK200 is doing that, but the apologetic smile and easygoing charm is hard to say no to, even for an old grump like him.

Plus, these two have been through a lot. They deserve a little quality time together.

As they say goodbye for the evening, Hank grins up at Connor: “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

The RK800 returns the smile. “That doesn’t narrow it down much.”

“I know. Go get your man.”

 

Connor intends to do exactly that.

They waste no time in heading down to Markus’ living quarters and locking the door behind them. Markus doesn’t fight it when Connor all but slams him against the door, to continue where they left off— namely, with his mouth on Markus’ and their hands down each other’s body.

“You’re far too overdressed for this.” When Markus voices that complaint, as little more than an exhale against his neck, Connor makes quick work of shedding his waistcoat and unbuttoning his shirt.

The gun he stole from the human driver clatters to the floor from where he had tucked it into his belt and left it there. “Um…”

Markus just lets out a low giggle. “Just come back here and kiss me like you mean it.”

“That I can definitely do.”

Their lips meet again, Markus sneaks both hands inside Connor’s shirt and runs them down his back until he can grab him by the buttocks and press their hips together. Smirking against the other’s lips, Connor brings his hands behind Markus’ thighs and hoists him up against the wall.

“How are your thirium levels? You still good to go?”

Knowing all too well where this is going and liking very much the pre-constructions he can see, Markus hooks his legs around Connor’s waist again. “I’ll live.”

“Well then.” Connor licks his lips and leans in. “Happy Valentine’s day.”

It’s not every day you get a date that saves you from a whole theater full of psychopaths, confesses undying love to you and then proceeds to ravish you senseless while soldering your wounds shut.

“Best Valentine’s _ever_.”


End file.
